


A Blank Package

by JustAJ



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, Help how do I tag, JustAJack, Markiplier - Freeform, Self Harm, Suicide, implied septiplier - Freeform, jacksepticeye - Freeform, this is the original. If you see it elsewhere it's a copy, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAJ/pseuds/JustAJ
Summary: !!Mind the tags!!A strangely blank package shows up on Marks doorstep with no explanation as to how it got there. The more he digs through it, the more a certain mans story unfolds- one about running away from problems and loving those who never loved back.Don't worry though, he's not running anymore.





	A Blank Package

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags please! This is your last warning.

When the doorbell rang, Mark did not expect to see a small package sitting there. He hadn't ordered anything online recently...so why was this here? It had no markings, no stamps, and no return address- which in itself was odd- all mail required that and a little unassuming package was no exception. No one stood in the open frame either, and no one was in sight or suspiciously walking away who could have delivered it. It had simply appeared, it seemed.

Shrugging off the oddity of the box, Mark picked it up and brought it inside, shutting the door and promptly opening it the wrong way round, accidentally dumping its contents out. Luckily, nothing was breakable, but it did create a mess of his floor. Papers in varying shades of yellow fluttered down while several little envelopes fell out, each sealed perfectly with a little bump in the middle as if something besides paper was shoved in. Like the package it all came in, the envelopes and papers were all unmarked. Mark sighed and started picking through it all. A bright green sticky note jumped out first, and with no other guidance, Mark started there.

 _Hi Mark._  
_I know you probably aren't expecting this, but I figured that if I don't say these things now, they'll never be said. Don't blame me for being afraid to talk in person, I'm sorry._  
_Start wherever you want with the papers, but the envelopes are numbered. If this gets to you, please read the envelopes in order._  
_~Seán_

Thoughts ran wild through Marks head. He sank to the floor slowly, trying to process it all. What would even compel Seán to send this? He always talked things out with Mark. Always. It wasn't like him to be secretive. He was happy, smiling constantly and cracking jokes. Then suddenly Mark came home and all traces of Seán were gone. Vanished. Guess the Irishman had places to be.  
Glancing at the mess he made, Mark sighed and pulled over a paper at random, the lined page full of Seán's slanted script. He dimly noted that nothing was dated either.

 _You never really think about pain and how it works, do you? It's fascinating really. The nerves sense a brutal impact or an intense temperature and say "This is bad! Stay away!" What smart little cells._  
_If only humans had that same feature. Being able to tell who works with you and who not to trust simply by being around them. Or maybe we do have that ability and some of us are too blinded to see it, much less use it. Whatever the case may be, I was stupid._  
_Then again, I was always called that so maybe they're not far off._  
_I wish they were right. It would be easier to deal with life if I didn't understand. The amount of things that could fly over my head without my knowledge. Being able to feel the bliss of knowing nothing. That's honestly paradise._  
_Too bad I understand how my life works._  
_Too bad I understood this early._

Mark read over the note three times before letting any of the words sink in. Desperately wanting answers, he grabbed another paper, reading on the floor with his back against the shut door. Had anyone walked in on him there, he would look the part of a madman, sitting among a mess of papers filled with scratchy writing. But he was alone, with as much time in the world as he could possibly ask for.

 _Maybe this whole letter thing was a mistake, but I'm too far in now to consider backing out. Too much of my time and effort went into this- I'm not about to throw it away..._  
_Maybe this is what people mean when they call me a workaholic. I devote time and energy to something and somewhere along the way, I hit the point if no return. It's not worth turning back anymore._  
_Maybe it never was._  
_I don't know anymore. But I'm in too deep to throw my time away. Might as well push forward._  
_If only it were that easy in every scenario._  
_A simple decision of "yes" or "no." But of course, life has strings attached to every decision you make, pulling you along like a puppet in a play._  
_I don't want to be a puppet. I want out._

Five letters in and the general gist was the same. Always something mildly regretful or resentful, hinting at something deeper before shutting Mark out again. It was the equivalent of slamming a door in his face. Offer the whole story only to yank it away again.  
He turned to the envelopes, neatly arranged by number.  
Picking up Number 1, Mark turned it over, pulling out the polaroid. An empty beer bottle lay in the middle of the road, two people sitting at either end of it. A car loomed in the background, making the faces indistinguishable, but the profiles and silhouettes were left perfectly clear. One was Jack. The other was a stranger. Their side was fuzzy, as if the image didn't develop right and details were lost. It was hard to tell if they were male or female, much less who the person was. The letter "S" written in Seáns handwriting was scrawled in the bottom of the caption area and it took Mark a minute to realize it was a signature.

 _Letter 1_  
_My first ever kiss was a joke. Did you know that?_  
_It was a game of spin-the-bottle with a bunch of old friends at a party. I was roped into playing and it ended up pointing to me and some complete stranger. They weren't going to back down from a challenge though, so I leaned forward and kissed them._  
_They weren't very good and in all honesty, I don't think I was either._  
_I felt ashamed that my first kiss was basically a dare and a joke. Shouldn't it be with someone you love?_  
_It's funny the weird and little moments of shame that you can remember. Like pissing yourself at school when you were 6 or the time you got stuck in a tree. Little things that probably no one remembers except for you._  
_And then looking back you just burn with the shame of it all. The weird self-loathing that you feel for being that dumb. That idiotic._  
_You remember being told off and feeling that shame of the adults words burning into your mind._  
_They never knew it, but they traumatized you. Words searing themselves permanently into your mind._  
_No one realizes how much one sentence can change a kids life._  
_"You're useless."_

Mark furrowed his brows in confusion.  
Useless. Seán.  
The two didn't seem to make sense together, like trying to imagine parents as children. Or what professors did at home, outside of the classroom.  
It didn't make sense. He seethed at the statement.  
Whoever called Seán useless was an idiot. But they probably didn't even realize that they had hurt someone with a throwaway sentence.  
Sighing, he reached for the second letter.  
A polaroid of a glittering sea fell from inside this envelope. Cliffs framed the blue expanse, light glinting off and creating little rainbows in the low-hanging fog. Seáns "S" signature adorned this polaroid as well, Mark noted. He was good with a camera.

 _Letter 2_  
_I first started hurting myself around 16. My problems then seemed insurmountable. Stress, work, tests, school, driving, relationships, holding down a job. It seemed too much._  
_It still does. But I'm proud of myself for making it over that mountain._  
_And I'm saddened that I was faced with another._  
_I think that was the tipping point. I had just achieved all this shit only to face more and have Life say "You did it. Here's more work. More stress. You'll get it though."_  
_Like a boss with a stack never-ending paperwork. Just as you finish one stack, they drop another onto your desk to complete._  
_Nothing seems doable then, and the little things that do? They don't matter. Because you're being taught that once you finish some task, a harder one will take its place._  
_It's a game of seeing how long you can hold your head above the tide of the work._  
_And one by one, we all drown._  
_I drowned to self-harm. Others drowned to alcohol, or drugs, or pushing themselves till they break._  
_But we all drowned._  
_You never did. I don't know how._  
_And deep inside, I knew that my weight would only make you drown too. I couldn't use you as a lifeline to help myself up, no matter how many times you offered your hand down._  
_I didn't want to kill the last precious thing on this planet._

Numbly staring at the words written out, Mark slowly pieced together a story from the letters. Seán was explaining things here, apologizing in his own way. Maybe.  
Mark was grasping at straws. Trying to find the broken logic that Seáns mind followed to end up in this place, this situation.   
Mark reached for the next sealed envelope. Number 3's polaroid was a picture of Mark. He didn't remember posing for it or that it was taken, but there he was, leaning back on one arm and pointing to the sky with the other. It was dark outside, the stars somehow showing up clearly despite the crappy quality that instant cameras had. Tall trees stood out against the background while the grass field cast shadows against Mark. His face was tilted towards the camera, yet looking up at the same time- as if in the middle of asking Seán if he had seen the same thing he did. Again, the "S" signature was in the corner, marked in with a green sharpie.

 _Letter 3_  
_We loved space._  
_But for different reasons._  
_You loved it because it showed you everything. The stars and the planets against a backdrop of black. How small we really are and how incredible it is that we exist at all._  
_I loved it because it showed me the void between stars. That black space where nothing exists. The end of everything and then some. Oblivion, I guess._  
_We wanted to go into space as well._  
_And again- for different reasons._  
_You wanted to be closer to what you loved while I wanted to float in nothing._  
_I wanted to die. You wanted to live._  
_I guess that's the difference between us. You saw the beauty of everything and I could only see the sadness.  
Like yin and yang, but we don't need each other to survive._

Little sentences that Seán said flashed through his mind.  
"Don't you ever wonder what being in space is like?"  
Instead of asking "Under what conditions?" Mark had simply responded with "I don't know, but I'd love to live up there."  
He didn't realize that Seán had fallen silent, though his lips moved as he turned his face away.  
"I didn't mean up there with equipment." He had murmured softly. And Mark hadn't heard it.  
Mark never heard Seáns little pleas for help, and if he did- he didn't recognize them for what they were.  
Slumping down and sighing, Mark picked up the next envelope, opening the seal and pulling out the image.  
It was a picture of Seán, smiling with his head tilted to the side in the adorable way he did. He looked happy, his expression open and genuine. Behind him was a mirror, showing his fingers crossed behind his back. It made the image seem false and fake. Like his smile doesn't mean anything.  
Mark frowned at the image. The smile was the same one he always gave Mark.

 _Letter 4_  
_I promised you that I wouldn't hurt myself again._

 _I said it with my fingers crossed._  
_You never even realized._  
_I promised you a lot of things with my fingers crossed._  
_I'm sorry. But I don't want to promise things I don't mean._  
_You made me say "I promise." You never made me say "I mean it."_

Mark sat there for a while, slowly understanding just how broken Seán really was. He faked...everything? He didn't want to think about the implications that Seáns words gave everything. So...Seán didn't mean anything he said? Or just some of it? How much was said with crossed fingers?  
He hadn't realized he was crying until a tear dropped onto the page. It didn't hit any words, but the light plop of it shook Mark from his reverie and he numbly picked up the contents of the unmarked box and moved to a more comfortable spot.  
When he settled down again, he reached for the next envelope and took the polaroid from inside.  
It was of Jack, his back to the camera, sitting on a bridge ledge with his legs dangling off the edge. The elegant "S" wasn't in it's usual spot. It had an odd signature, as if someone marred the corner of the caption area with a black scribble.

 _Letter 5_  
_I fell in love 4 times._

 _The first was with a girl from Norway. She was pretty, and kind, and gentle, and sweet._  
_And a liar and a cheat._  
_It took me 7 months to realize that she was seeing 2 other guys at the same time. Something about "the danger and thrill" of it all._  
_Bullshit. I kicked her out of my place the next day._  
_I don't think she ever realized that she still had my jacket, or that I still had hers._  
_I wonder what she did with it._  
_Because I kept hers. I don't know why._

 _The second was a local girl. She worked at the coffeehouse down the street, lived above it and woke up at 4:30 am to brew the daily batch of dirty bean water._  
_Hard worker, easy to smile, and very flirty._  
_Too much so. She grabbed a movie stars attention. They stopped by every morning, charming her with a smile. Someone from Hollywood shooting a flick in Athlone swept my girl off her feet._  
_She closed the coffeehouse and ran off with him the second the shoot was over. She never even said "goodbye."_  
_I hope Hollywood can treat her better than I ever did._

 _The third was a guy, surprisingly. I was ready to give up on everything when he found me. I was on the wrong side of the bridge ledge and he was the only one who bothered to stop._  
_He didn't need to ask "what are you doing?" He already knew._  
_He just asked "why" and I stepped back onto the right side of the ledge._  
_I still wonder why I did that...then I foolishly answer myself with "he was the only one who cared."_  
_It seemed perfect, honestly._  
_I realized later that he stopped to take a photo of me. The "aesthetic" or some shit. He didn't care about who I was. He didn't expect a boyfriend._  
_Then, 9 months in, he left. Saying that I was too unpredictable and emotional, that I was just emotional baggage that he didn't need in his life. He didn't expect a relationship. No-he didn't want a relationship._  
_He said I was a mess that no one would ever want, that I'd be useless, an emotional bomb- the fuse already lit._  
_That seared itself into my head._  
_He shoved the polaroid he took of me into my hands before slamming the door behind him._  
_He said I was undesirable. Unlovable. Impossible._  
_Maybe I was._  
_I've been told it enough times, maybe it's true._

 _By the time the fourth came around, I was done. I had been broken enough times to realize that I'd never amount to anything. That I was always in the wrong. That I was just something to pick up and admire before kicking it to the curb._  
_Because I didn't matter. I wasn't worthy of love, or happiness. I was worthy of being smashed to pieces. Over and over and over and over until nothing left of me remained._  
_Life proved that time and time again by ripping everything I cared for away._  
_I was so afraid to fall in love again._  
_I was so convinced it would end in heartbreak._  
_I was so paranoid that number 4 would be exactly like one, two, and three. I couldn't risk it._  
_I couldn't do that to myself._  
_So I hurt myself...in whatever way I could._  
_Maybe the sting of the pain would make it better. Or at least provide some form of relief from reality._

_It did._

Seán had told Mark about 1,2, and 3, but only that they were previous relationships. None of the details.  
He always excluded the details.  
And while Seán was living with Mark for a while, they were only roommates. So maybe Seán left Marks friendship for love with whoever Number 4 was.  
Turning to glance at the box, he saw that it was almost empty. The envelope stack was starting to wear thin.  
The next envelope had the polaroid behind the letter, as if to hide it. It was in black and white, unlike every picture that came before. A grainy image of scars lancing up and down a pair of pale arms. Slashes, burn marks, bruises- every mark under the sun was laid out on the arms. Sharpie words tried to cover the scars, failing due to the flash. The scars had a glare to them that the ink reflected into the lens.

 _Letter 6_  
_I'm sorry for doing this to myself. But it helps._

They were Seáns arms, Mark realized. Seán had done this to himself, seeking relief in some way and Mark did nothing.  
He didn't realize the signs, didn't understand why Seán always wore long sleeves. Didn't stop him from doing this, or offer help.  
Mark thought that Seán was doing just fine when he wasn't.  
He grabbed the last envelope, tearing into it as his own emotions ran wild.  
He didn't realize he had torn through the polaroid and letter until a heavy rip sounded in the room.  
"Fuck...Fuck!" Mark cursed, and he frantically tried to match the torn pieces together, tears burning in his eyes and falling in heavy tracks down his face.  
The two halves of the polaroid were easy enough to fit together, but he turned his focus to piecing together the letter. It took some time, the parts tattered and nearly identical. But he did it.  
Because what Seán had to say was important.

 _Letter 7_  
_I know none of these make any sense. I'm sorry._  
_I've given you all this to deal with without telling you why. And to be honest, I don't think I can bring myself to ever tell you._  
_I hope you won't be mad. I hope you won't be like the others._  
_Right. Well... I guess I'll say it now._  
_Person 4 in whatever previous letter was you._  
_I didn't deserve you, and you didn't need me weighing you down all the time._  
_And I'm sorry, but I had to go. I couldn't be near you anymore. It hurt too much to see your face every day without being able to love you._  
_I regret it, I really do. But I couldn't do that to myself._  
_Now I wonder what would have happened if I stayed._  
_I wonder what you did once you found out that I was gone. My closet empty, my room devoid of everything that made it mine, the little things I had collected- gone. I'm sorry for just vanishing, but I couldn't anymore. I couldn't take it. Everything was crashing down on me and I couldn't bring myself to bother you with all my problems. You were better off in blissful ignorance. I pretended for you. I didn't want to hurt you._  
_I thought about doing this for a long time, debating the pros and cons, and what you would do- how you would react._  
_I know I didn't make it easy, but it was easier to run._  
_Don't worry, Mark. I'm not running anymore._

_I'm flying._

In shock, Mark looked at the image again, ignoring the brilliant sunset it depicted. No signature was on the image, but that didn't strike any realization within Mark.  
A city skyline faded into the background, one lone building in the foreground.  
And one lone, strikingly familiar silhouette falling from it.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am fine.  
> This isn't a vent or anything, I just felt like writing something and it happened to be angst. Oops.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and I'll catcha later. <3


End file.
